


If the Plan Doesn't Work

by AngryPeaches



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Clubbing, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, pair skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8751778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPeaches/pseuds/AngryPeaches
Summary: After Japan's top pair skater drops his partner on the ice and she is no longer able to compete, he leaves competitive skating and spends his days working at an ice rink in Tokyo. However, an encounter at a darkened club with a living legend, closely followed by a crazy offer, has him rethinking his stance on retirement, and maybe even how he thinks of himself.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> So this shanky piece of writing came from my determination to write a 'they dance at a club' fic that was also multiple chapters. I asked "What if instead of skating at a rink to relieve stress, Yuuri goes to a club where he could just anonymously dance by himself?" and that was where this started.
> 
> I haven't written fanfiction in forever, so I really have no idea what I'm doing. However, I appreciate you, and you, and especially you, for coming here to give this work a chance. 
> 
> Thank you also to my dear friend, tulkasebore, who is my kind pre-reader, beta, and partner in YOI hell. She was the one who introduced me to the series at a time when I really needed a pick-me-up, and is the constant sender of YOI fanart, fic recs, and theories. So yes, a big thank you to her for taking over my life.

Clubs. Dark bodies in a dimly lit room, moving to music, caught in yellow, purple, blue spotlights that roamed the room. The deep, steady bass reverberated in his chest to the point where it was almost too much, flowing through to his shoulders, arms, and fingertips. So loud it drowned out the faceless figures bopping around him. For some people, this sort of scene was their worst nightmare; too many people, too close, too tipsy. Yuuri, though? Yuuri found himself drawn to it whenever he felt stressed or anxious. He could completely lose himself the intoxicating anonymity. He could fall into the music and just exist as a random being, not Katsuki ‘my life is a constant exercise in failure’ Yuuri. He stripped off the stress and anxiety, and left it at the door. He didn’t need to think; he just needed to dance. 

A black t-shirt and dark jeans shrouded Yuuri further into the crowd. A very, very blurry crowd. His glasses poked out from his back pocket as he swayed, since eyesight didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for a hook up, or even a dance partner. He didn’t care that everyone around him was a vague blob, bopping to the music in a weird, dark ocean. All he cared about was the music. 

Yuuri drew in a breath, and closed his eyes as he tuned into the beat and the pulse. His fingertips started on his thighs, drew up his thighs to his waist. The friction exposed the barest slip of skin for a second before Yuuri let go and fell back into the rhythm. As the bass picked up, his hips followed each metronomic bass note from left to right, a slave to the cadence. Effortless shoulders shadowed that movement, graceful hands slipping down his sides. In this moment, right here, he felt like the whole room wanted him; self-indulgent, as much as it was an exhibition. 

In any other place, he’d feel weird about adoring himself with this selfish egocentrism. Hell, he couldn’t muster up this same burning _amour-propre_ alone in his bedroom. He got lost in his head; ‘You’re awkward, a bit too soft in the middle, when you bend that way your butt looks awful’. Maybe dancing here was a part of countering those voices; a big ‘Fuck that, I’m great’. Yuuri dug into that sentiment, lips drawing together as he swayed to the right, pitching his hips into the beat, arms raised and relaxed.

Every now and then, people approached him, existed in his space for several minutes before falling away again. If they did, he didn’t pay them any mind. They swam in and out of his blurry vision, in for a count or four before they turned away again. The people changed, but Yuuri’s commitment to the music was the one constant; a sole focus on himself, on his fingertips as they slid down his chest, on his feet as they stepped in time to the snare drum.

Engrossed in himself, he almost didn’t notice the gentleman who approached him. In fact, it took him a good minute to even realize someone was there. However, his character caught his attention as he moved against the crowd – a slightly taller man with… hair. Probably a face. Yuuri squinted, lips pinching as he tried to make him out better. In the low light, he couldn’t quite tell if it was blond or silver or what. The club lighting rolled over his locks: purple, yellow, green. Either way, he didn’t need his glasses to feel the grace radiating off of him. He didn’t bop and shuffle like everyone else here. His presence was liquid. He owned the beat as if he was its designer. 

His approach radiated poise and control as he edged closer and closer to Yuuri. His outline flowed with the music, confident, graceful, practiced. Yuuri squinted harder to better make him out, curiosity baiting him until his forehead ached a little. Part of him was tempted to pull out his glasses to get a better look at the man who moved like a piece of art. However, he never got the chance. Yuuri blinked and the man was there, in front of him, close without touching. The scent of spiced cologne tickled his nostrils. 

With the man less than a hand span away, Yuuri strained to catch a focused glimpse of possessive blue-green locked straight on him. A bare smirk kicked up the corners of his mouth, sultry and playful before it slipped away again. That split-second of clear vision gripped Yuuri’s chest hard, stealing his ability to breathe. Whoever this man was, he wanted Yuuri. Despite his usual dismissal of every other person on the dance floor, Yuuri found he didn’t mind one bit. 

The man fell into Yuuri’s rhythm, swaying with the beat. One arm circled the space around Yuuri, claiming a buffer between him and everyone else at the club. Just the one – a last opportunity for Yuuri to slip away if he wanted. It was an offer, and one Yuuri found less and less like turning down. He wasn’t sure if it was the man’s confident grace, the claim he’d laid on Yuuri, or the cologne. In that moment, Yuuri wanted to dance with him. 

Drawing a decisive breath, Yuuri angled himself toward the gentleman, and took a step closer. Chin angled upward oh so slightly, he met the guy face on. As crappy and generic as the club music was, Yuuri couldn’t deny the way it kicked his pulse up, daring him to match the liberating rhythm. Yuuri swayed with the other man, leaning back to see if he’d follow. Without hesitation, his partner shadowed him, and likewise ebbed when Yuri advanced upon him. Yuuri’s lips curled into the faintest smile as they danced, relaxed and easy. For the first time in a long time, Yuuri found himself enjoying company at a club. 

The palpable chemistry between them was a pleasant surprise. Most of the time, Yuuri flat up ignored people. The one or two times someone engage him, Yuuri lost his flow, thought too much about his hands and feet, and how much they didn’t fit with his partner’s limbs. He’d then excuse himself to get a drink, although in reality he’d book it to the exit because at that point, there was no bringing himself back from that self-conscious place. Other people brought back the sting of pair skating, and with that, a crippling sense of failure that brought him right back to old memories. This time, though? 

His partner understood his movements, allowed Yuuri to push the thin boundary between them, creating this weird feeling that he could trust him – a random stranger. On impulse, Yuuri twisted on his heel so his back was to his partner. A glimpse over his shoulder let him that his partner followed him, hovering just behind him, around him. Yuuri faced forward and closed his eyes, swaying in time to the music. He felt arms brush past him, and air breeze past him as they drew close, but not any further. 

A tickle on his neck made him stiffen, his partner’s lips tilted towards his ear so he could speak over the club’s thumping. “May I?” The Russian accent was a surprise. However, that surprise was overshadowed by the man’s sultry purr. The timbre caused a rush of goosebumps over his neck. Tentative fingers on Yuuri’s hips finished the rest of his question. 

Oh, fuck. His pulse glitched when he stumbled over the realization that he was desirable. This random person, who moved with liquid grace, whose sensuality was visible even when Yuuri wasn’t wearing his glasses, wanted him. The shock softened when Yuuri realized that he didn’t mind this one bit. Yuuri replied with a nod and the barest, “Nn,” confirming that yes, he’s so okay with this. 

Heart in his chest, Yuuri stilled for a moment underneath his partner’s steady hands. Palms came to rest over the curve of his hipbone, the fingertips pressed just that little bit into their hollow. Those hands moved with him, guiding him with the beat, certain yet unobtrusive. He realized then that his partner hadn’t moved from his neck, breath ghosting over its nape. The tickle ran down Yuuri’s spine, encouraging him to press backwards a little until he brushed against his partner’s chest with every other step. 

For the first time in a long, long time, Yuuri felt he could fall into not just the music, but another human being. The acute realization ached for a second before it gave way into nostalgia. The good kind of nostalgia; not the bad kind filled with piercing memories of his greatest failures. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the chill of the ice rink on the tip of his nose as he moved with his skating partner at precarious, addictive speeds. That feeling flowed through him, light, free, and so alive. 

Embracing the moment, Yuuri turned on his heel again with a quiet ‘fuck it’, to face his partner. This close, the same, possessive gaze slipped into focus and then back out again. Yuuri almost wished they could stop just so he could appreciate those eyes for longer than a blurry second. Hands that weren’t his own found his hips, the bare pressure enticing Yuuri that much nearer until they were chest to chest. That same spicy, woody cologne hit him again. 

Almost of their own accord, Yuuri’s uncertain hands found the other man’s waist. Touch, he realized then, was far more informative than his eyesight. He felt thin, silky fabric, too expensive to be a t-shirt, designed for accentuating the firm muscle underneath. So, not only did this guy dance like he was hot shit, but probably knew it too. Not to mention, his build lent itself to the fact that he must be good-looking. Yuuri smirked at the picture his clothes painted, although only for a second before his nerves captured his expression. 

The Russian’s thumbs skated along the firm line of his hipbone, pressing that little bit and back again, encouraging Yuuri flush against him. The hummingbird in his ribcage woke up, fluttering in his chest. Part of him felt silly for getting so flustered over all this, since he’d danced with people in far riskier situations on the ice. Actual life and death sort of stuff. Yet, here he was, Katsuki ‘I’ve never even kissed anyone before’ Yuuri. Despite his virginal standing, his nerves exhilarated him to the point where he never wanted this moment to stop. 

Yuuri wondered if the other man could feel the tattoo of his heart through his thin shirt; and if he did, just how embarrassing it was that he’s so worked up over just being close to him. Unfortunately, Yuuri never got a chance to find out. His partner goes stiff for a second, totally out of sync with the music. Yuuri’s nerves tilted from euphoric to anxious, assuming he’d done something to offend. Before Yuuri could ask what he’d done wrong, his partner had drawn back, although not before leaning into his ear again, lifting one hand to tilt Yuuri’s chin toward him. “I’m really sorry. I have to go.” His apology tickled his ear, in competition with the club. “It was nice dancing with you,” he adds before he takes a step back. As he did, Yuuri caught the vague sounds of a third sentence, though the room swallows its contents. Before Yuuri could catch him to ask him to repeat himself, he’s lost to the crowd. 

Suddenly, Yuuri found himself still and mute on the dance floor while everyone else bopped around him. His once quickened heart sank then as he came to terms with the fact that it was over. He understood on some level that it had to be over at some point. But shit, he could’ve at least gotten a number. He could’ve done that, right? Asked for his number? That wouldn’t be too forward? Then again, given the accent he might just be a tourist in Tokyo, looking to blow off a little steam. If that were the case, maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. 

Despite the depressive logic, Yuuri found himself wondering if he should stick around, just in case he came back. Maybe he could just get a name, even if he couldn’t get a number? An Instagram? His Facebook? Shit. He’d just had one dance with the guy. One dance didn’t justify an obsession. 

For a few hopeful minutes, Yuuri fell back into dancing with himself, but it was no good. Try as he might, he couldn’t find his own rhythm, his brain occupied on something other than the tempo in his ears. After the Russian, he’s too aware of his surroundings, of who’s watching, of who might return.

After a valiant effort to restore his groove, Yuuri uttered a sigh and pulled the plug. With a vague sense of defeat, he excused himself from the floor, and made a steady beeline for the door. The glasses came out of his pocket and found a home on the bridge of his nose. The weight of them put the club into focus, and with that an acute sense of self. He’s Katsuki Yuuri, ex-pair skater, current ice rink employee for a failing company in Tokyo, and eternally bored with life. 

Yuuri allowed himself one hopeful look back at the club on his way out on the off chance he’d recognise the silvery hair amongst the sea of people. Yet after a second or two of straining, hope flattened into defeat, and with it, Yuuri’s exit from the club into the chilly evening air. Maybe this really is for the best. He’s no stranger to the phrase ‘all good things must come to an end’, and he’s learned that some parts of life are best preserved as they are. Opening doors just leads to trouble. Obsessing over them can be just as harmful. Shit, this is way too much angst over a quick and dirty dance at a club with some random Russian stranger. 

And yet in spite of it all, there’s a flicker in Yuuri that holds onto the moment, stuck in the back of his brain despite his best attempts to extinguish it. Yuuri comes to this club to de-stress, to put his anxiety to one side; to exist as just him, in a moment of time away from everything else; to lose himself in his passion without a care. Yes, this club is a lot of things to Yuuri. But this is the first time the club has ever made him feel alive.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi! I’m Katsuki Yuuri and I’m twenty-three years old! I used to be one of Japan’s top-ranked pair skaters. However, after I completely bombed in a competition, I decided to quit and finish university. I’m doing okay, though! My friend Yuuko used her connections and got me a job at an ice skating rink in Tokyo after I graduated. She initially offered me one back at Hasetsu working with her, but I can’t bring myself to go home quite yet._

_Last night, I danced with a random stranger who made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time. Now I can’t stop thinking about him, but I never got his number. Help! What am I doing with my life?_

Slender fingers firm on his waist, pressure adjusting with each step, digging that little bit into his soft midriff. Warm breath on his ear, the nape of his neck, his voice, purred, low, sultry.

“Yuuri.”

His partner flush to his back, crowding him in as they danced together. His gentle surprise when Yuuri turned on his heel to face the man, tentative hands turning confident, possessive. Nervous heat low in Yuuri’s stomach as he dragged his fingers down the man’s side--

“Yuuuuriiii.” His ex-coach’s low, flat voice suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d asked for him. The levelled glower aimed at him confirmed it.

Her face swam into view as Yuuri focused and straightened from his slumped posture over the café table, hands curled around a coffee cup. The booth they sat at and, and rest of the cozy shop, filled in around her, a sonata of cutlery and amiable conversation.

Innocent enough eyes behind square glasses regarded Maiko. “Hum? Sorry.”

Maiko studied him intently, arms folded on the table and hot chocolate ignored. Jesus, he really hoped she couldn’t read the burning guilt all over his face. Yuuri met her concentrated stare with a face that said, ‘Nope. I absolutely was not thinking about a dude grinding up on my butt in a crowded, dark room’. She leaned in a little closer, dark brown gaze taking him in. He leaned a little further backward, eyeing her with unease.

Yuuri broke first. “…Yes?”

Maiko pinched her lips together, and tucked a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear where it’d fallen out of its messy bun. Her nostrils flared a little before she spoke, her mouth hesitating. Whatever she wanted to say, it seemed delicate. Out of habit, Yuuri braced himself for potential criticism. Guarded brown eyes stayed locked with hers, as he waited for her to continue. Maybe she was finally going to let him know how disappointed she was that he wasn’t ever going to return to the rink.

Yuuri recalled the other infrequent times they’d had coffee; the earlier one when he’d broken it to her that he intended on returning to university full-time to finish his undergrad degree, rather than keep skating. At the time, she had regarded him with a mix of withheld disappointment and sympathy, placed a hand on his and said, “You know you can’t blame yourself forever, right?” She’d squeezed his palm, cocked her head to the side, and offered him a small smile. “Give it time. You’ll be back.”

The third, fourth, and fifth coffees were much the same, with gradual declines in optimism. More hand pats and understanding looks, but behind brown eyes sat something Yuuri couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something withheld that only grew with intensity when Yuuri informed her for the third, fourth, fifth times that he was done with skating. “I get it. Don’t worry. You do whatever you want, as long as you’re happy.”

Coming back to the fifteenth coffee in front of him, Yuuri squirmed with either anticipation or discomfort, he wasn’t sure which. Maiko looked, for lack of a better word, a tiny bit pissed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Maiko asked, concern peppering the accusation. Yuuri opened his mouth to speak, but she steamrolled ahead. “I mean,” she ran her hand through her hair, at least until her hands hit the bun, which dislodged a few more strands, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re being far too distant today. You look-- I don’t know, a little bit empty.”

Yuuri blinked, assessing where this conversation was heading, and what he could do to get away from it. Yuuri ducked his head under her stare, peeking up to steal a glance at her.

“Do you like where you’re at right now?” Maiko fixed him with an earnest, steady stare, lips fixed in a concerned line. “I mean, are you still happy?”

Oh. Yuuri’s ears perked at the word, as did his gaze, which found Maiko again. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked. But it _was_ the first time Yuuri actually considered the question. Before he’d smiled, confirmed, and waved it off. But now?

Was he happy? His brows twitched downward for a second as he mulled over the term. Well, happy seemed like such a pointless emotion to chase for starters – so momentary, so fleeting. Happiness was the several elated seconds when the announcer revealed that you beat a personal best, when seeing the numbers pop up on the screen made your heart squeeze so tight you were worried it’d stopped. Happiness was finding several minutes of reprieve in a dark club with a stranger. Happiness was unreliable and unpredictable.

“I’m content,” Yuuri replied, dodging her pointed questions.

Maiko uttered a nasal huff. “Content makes it sound like you’re settling for second place,” she observed, her tone flat, but still caring.

The corner of Yuri’s mouth tightened and heat crept over his cheeks at the incisive remark. Second place. He opened his mouth for some sort of rebuttal or excuse, but Maiko beat him too it.

“I’ve watched you for a while now, and I don’t like the direction you’re headed. It’s like watching you slowly unravel at the seams. Especially today.” There was the comforting hand on his, sandwiching his palm to the side of his warm coffee cup. “I’ve gone easy on you ever since you quit because you told me you were happy. Now I regret it, because you’re clearly running out of steam.” His ex-coach pursed her lips, her stare fixing Yuuri to the spot. “You need to find something to put a fire in your stomach again.”

“Maiko-san,” Yuuri frowned, digging deep and embracing his response, since he got the feeling whatever he said wouldn’t please her. “I appreciate the support, but, I just—” Yuuri let out a faint sigh, and cast his attention to the passers by through the window.

“I’m sorry. That chapter in my life closed,” he responded with the most even, neutral voice he could muster. For Yuuri, the chapter was more than closed, it was locked tight. He never wanted to open it again out of the crippling embarrassment that came with it.

His response earned him another sigh from Maiko, who pinched her lips together for a second before she spoke. “So you keep saying. I respect that, and I’m not asking you to go backwards. But have you thought about what your next chapter is about? You need to move on.”

The question lingered, although it never found an answer in Yuuri. Maiko applied gentle pressure to the back of his hand. “Mistakes happen, that’s a part of life. No one blames you.”

The ‘M’ word made Yuuri squirm, his face taut with ill-ease, shoulders hunched against the implication. “Mm,” he hummed to let Maiko know he was still present, even if every part of him said otherwise, eyes on the floor, hands firm on his coffee cup.

“Does part of you miss it?” Maiko added, taking her hand back.

His brain conspired with her, bringing him right back to the night before. It offered him muscle memory; a body moving with his in time to music. When he’d danced with that man, for a second Yuuri breathed in freedom and exhaled inspiration and design. Yeah, his past haunted him. But his passion for the sport brought him life, and he wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two.

His face must’ve done something, because Maiko reached over again, tentative fingers on the back of his warm hand. “It’s okay if you do.”

“Well yes,” Yuuri conceded an inch, leaning backwards and away from her touch. “But missing something is one thing, and doing it is another.” Plus, he wasn’t about to pin one ten-minute dance with a stranger on reinvigorating his past disgraces. He’d need to be really immature and impulsive to take that moment in time and go: Yes, this is a reason for me to open up all of these wounds again.

“I’m out of practice, and I’m getting old. I can’t see myself getting back into it, even if I do miss it a little,” Yuuri countered, nodding once to cement his certainty in the matter.

“I’m not saying you need to get back into it,” Maiko retorted, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “But you’re wilting where you are right now.” Her mouth paused at the edge of her cup, bottom lip resting against the ceramic as she watched Yuuri. “I saw something in your eyes when I asked if you missed skating. I’m not sure what it is, but why don’t you follow that feeling?”

Heat painted Yuuri’s cheeks. All of a sudden, his coffee cup seemed far more interesting than the conversation they were having. “Oh. Really?”

“Really.” Maiko affirmed with a gentle smile, leaning backwards. “Maybe you should give Yuuko-chan a call, speak with her about it? I think that would help.”

“Oh no, no, no.” Yuuri jumped to life, his coffee almost sloshing over the side of his cup. “No, I couldn’t—I can’t-- I’m not asking Yuuko for advice.” He couldn’t, he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right to use her as a sounding board in his post-career slump.

Maiko relented with a small shrug, mouth pinched at one end. “Well, okay. Just, if you won’t talk to either of us about it, at least think it over. I’ve worked with you long enough to see that you need a change.” Maiko drained the dregs of her hot chocolate. “I’m not saying you have to go back and do the same thing again. I’m just saying, you’ll drive yourself mad if you stay here.”

She put her empty mug on the table, licking her bottom lip clean of chocolate. She then tilted her head to one side as she regarded Yuuri. “Speaking as your ex-coach and a fan, it would be great to see you doing something you love again. Whatever that ends up being.”

After he and Maiko parted ways, Yuuri’s afternoon ticked on to the same routine as it always did. He went to work, sat behind a counter. Customers came, skated for a bit, left. Yuuri welcomed them, took their money, found the right sized skates. The peak time came and went, leaving Yuuri with an afternoon empty.

An empty afternoon gave him too much idle thinking time. Of course, his brain gravitated toward Maiko, his career, and the club. The blood in his veins hooked on the night before, extrapolating that into a fantasy where his skates cut through pristine ice alongside another person. It was just enough to whet his appetite.

On the other hand, his venomous conscience bit into his daydreaming. He’d left on such a low note. He’d hurt people. He’d lost. Neither of those two things were something he ever wanted to repeat. So even in his wildest fictions about taking up his skates again, they remained just that.

His brain circled around those thoughts in an unproductive cycle that just made him more frazzled. Yuuri drummed on the customer counter in front of him, eyes glued to his mobile phone. He hated to admit it, but Maiko might be right. There was only one person he could call. At the same time, she was also the last person he wanted to call.

Yuuri swallowed his beating heart. His drumming faltered into silence as he reached for his phone and dialled a number. He took a breath as he waited out the dial tone, ignoring the urge to hang up right now.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Yuuko-chan. This is Yuuri,” he greeted, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. “How’re you?”

“Hi Yuuri! I’m good, and yourself?” Yuuko’s voice lilted on the other end.

Yuuri found a smile he didn’t quite feel on the inside. “Oh fine, fine. Um.” He shifted in his chair, sitting up a little straighter so he could have a serious conversation. “Yuuko-chan?”

“Mm?”

Yuuri gulped a second time and located his tongue before he launched into the whole situation. “Maiko-san came by today and we had a talk. About, well, me I guess. But you were a part of it.”

Mild surprise lifted Yuuko’s voice. “Oh, really? How’s she doing?”

“Oh, she’s good.” Yuuri chuckled, although he imagined the nervous tension in his voice didn’t inspire confidence. “Just—she asked me about skating.” He shuffled in his chair and fiddled with a pen. “And if I was happy with what I’m doing right now.”

“And?” Yuuko prompted, so neutral Yuuri couldn’t interpret anything from the singular word.

Shit. Yuuri didn’t have a plan for what he was about to say next. He should’ve prepared something. Where did he begin? Last night’s dance? Coffee? His anxiety? Skating? Chapters? Now that he actually had to put verbal words to his thoughts, he found himself blank and tongue-tied, garbling straight to the cliff notes. “I don’t know. Yes? No? It doesn’t matter, either way. I can’t skate. I’m past it, I don’t have a partner. I’m getting old.”

“Whoa, okay mister. Take a step back, there’s a lot to unpack there,” his ex-partner advised. “Firstly, what brought this on? Aside from Maiko-san. You’ve always seemed very sure about moving on. Why the change of heart?”

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, his fringe sticking up at an odd angle before it flopped down again as heat consumed his cheeks. “I had a realization the other night.” Thank god video phones hadn’t taken off in this century. “I, um. I kind of miss skating. I just don’t know if this is a temporary feeling or not. I’m not sure what to say to Maiko-san. I also um--”

Yuuri’s voice caught in his throat before it softened to a hush. “I um. Feel bad thinking about doing it without you.”

Yuuko offered a sympathetic hum, followed by a small tsk. “Aw Yuuri, please don’t say that’s a big part of it. I’m happy, I told you before. I have a family; I don’t have any intention on going back to competitive skating. If, for whatever reason, you went back to skating, you have my full support.”

Yuuri hunched his shoulders, cheeks aflame. “I know, it just brings back a lot of memories I wish I could fix,” Yuuri admitted, doodling with a pen on a post-it note with his spare hand to keep himself occupied.

“And again, as I’ve said before, there’s nothing to fix. I’m fine, I’m doing great, in fact. I like what I’m doing.” Yuuko paused, her own voice growing quiet as she continued. “You should do the same.”

“Excuse me,” a purposed voice cut over his conversation.

Yuri started, shoulders unfurling as he came back to reality. Right, yes, he was still a skating rink employee. “Oh- sorry, Yuuko-chan, can I call you later? I have a cust--” he spoke as he turned, his surprise blossoming on every feature of his face, “—tomer.” Brown eyes fluttered behind thick glasses, widening as he took in the figure before him.

The faint, “Oh, sure. Call me back later though, okay?” from Yuuko went unheard.

His frown softened into surprise as he drank in the man before him. The grey hair. The captivating blue eyes.

He knew this man.

“Yuuri?” Yuuko’s voice sounded distant and tinny.

Victor Nikiforov reaffirmed his pleasant smile, although the tight corners hinted at impatience.

“Ah—sorry,” Yuri started, his brain snapping back online after the initial blip. He shoved his phone in his pocket, scrambling so he could look somewhat professional. “Shit—sorry. Welcome to the Ice Palace. How can I help?”

Yuuri tried not to stare, but it was impossible to avoid. He tried not to blush uncontrollably, but it was impossible to avoid. He had posters of this man on his bedroom wall since he was small. He’d followed his whole skating career. He’d named his dog after him. Did he say something? Should he say something? If he did, he probably shouldn’t lead with any of those things. ‘Hi, I’m Yuuri and you inspired me to start skating, and my dog was named Vicchan, and there’s no way I could miss your face because I wake up to it every morning’. Um, no thanks.

“Yes, I would like one ticket to skate, please,” his idol beamed, holding out some cash.

Yuuri’s gaze dropped to the bills where it lingered for a second. “Sure thing.” Instinctive hands took the cash and opened the till. As he fished out change, he glanced up at the world renowned skater, and tried to get a hold of himself. After several false starts, he found his tongue. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Victor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri didn’t think it possible, but Victor’s smile became wider, touching the corners of his eyes. “Why yes, I am. Are you a fan?”

Yuri’s cheeks advanced from pink to flaming red. “Hah, yeah, I guess you could say that,” he confessed with a meek hand behind his head. Of all the places to meet Victor Nikiforov. Here. At the small ice rink where he worked. What were the odds? His ex-coach inquired about his skating and general happiness, and then the man who sparked his passion in the sport turns up?

“Well, if that’s the case, would you like to take a commemorative photo? I wouldn’t mind at all,” Victor shrugged, waving one hand like it was no big deal. Well, maybe for Victor it _was_ no big deal. Yuuri on the other hand? Yuuri’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Sure, that would be great.” Dumbfounded, he slipped his hand into his pocket again to retrieve his phone. He popped out from behind the counter and approached Victor Nikiforov.

The man extended one graceful hand and cocked his head to one side. “Excellent. Would you like me to do the honours?”

Yuuri nodded, phone already in the other man’s palm as the two of them huddled in close. His heart leapt right into his throat when the Russian looped an arm around him and pulled them tight together for a selfie. As he did, cologne hit Yuuri’s nostrils. Spicy cologne. Oh god, the Russian accent. The familiar weight of delicate hands on his hips. Grey hair. Cerulean eyes.

Oh.

Shit.

Yuuri’s eyes pulled wide as Victor snapped a photo. His idol drew the phonein close for scrutiny and chuckled. “Oh my gosh, you look so nervous! Come, it’s fine, you can relax. Here, we’ll take another. Say cheeeese.” Victor snapped another one of them.

Yuuri tried a natural smile, as naturalas he could now that his brain was dead. Gone. So, so gone.

“And one more.”

Shit. He couldn’t say with100% certainty that this was the man he’d danced with last night, but there was a hell of a lot of circumstantial evidence to suggest it. He couldn’t, though, could he? Have danced with Victor Nikiforov last night? As far as he’d read – which was a lot – Victor never commented on being into men in the news.

“And another.”

If it _was_ him, he shouldn’t ask for that same reason. It would be insensitive to straight up ask. If he were famous, he wouldn’t want people poking around into his sexuality, especially if he’d made a conscious effort to keep it out of the public arena. Plus, if it _wasn’t_ him, that would just be embarrassing. Yuuri might actually die if that happened.

“Let’s take another just in case!”

That said, if he had to put a bet on it he was pretty certain Victor Nikiforov and his random mystery man last night were the same person. Just how many Russians with grey-silver hair and that scent of cologne were there wandering around Tokyo? Shit. If that were true, it meant he had felt up Victor Nikiforov last night, Russia’s top men’s singles figure skater. Oh. Dear. God.

“And one more for good luck,” Victor added, snapping one or two more selfies of Yuuri’s blind panic.

On top of that, nothing in Victor indicated that he recognized Yuuri from the night before. Either that, or he _did_ recognize him, but he just didn’t want to acknowledge it? That would make sense, he remembered reading something about Russia and attitudes toward homosexuality there. If that were the case, then he absolutely shouldn’t mention last night. Not only would it be insensitive, but he didn’t want Victor worrying about Yuuri going to the press. How awful would that be if his idol was afraid of him going to the press?

Of course, Victor chose to dance at the club with another guy, so maybe he wasn’t that worried about it? Maybe he was banking on not being recognized in some random skeevy club? Shit, Yuuri’s head spun with the possibilities.

“There you go!” Victor deposited the phone back into Yuuri’s sweaty palm.

It took a second for Yuuri to come up with some semblance of a reply, staring at the object. “Uh.” He blinked, studying the thing in his hand. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all, it’s my pleasure,” Victor smiled, and tilted his head to the side, strands of fine silvery hair following behind. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Ah.” Yuuri’s hand trembled a little as he slipped his phone back into his pocket, “Yuuri. It’s Yuuri.”

“Yuuri, nice to meet you.” Victor stuck out a hand.

Yuuri stared at it for a second as if it were an alien object. “Um. Yes, nice to meet you too.” His fingers closed around his hand. A hand he was already acquainted with. Intimately.

Heat painted Yuuri’s cheeks as they shook hands. His attention remained there for a second too long before he realized he had a duty here, as an employee. “Ah! Er. Right, yes. Um, your change.” He let go of Victor’s hand and went back to counting out coins before holding them out.

“Thank you.” Victor smiled as he took the leftover cash and pocketed it. “Don’t worry about skates. I brought my own,” he waved off, gesturing to the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later, maybe.” The Russian gave a tiny wave as he swanned off toward thelocker room, leaving a very stumped Yuuri in his wake.

Brown eyes blinked behind skewed glasses. “Yeah, catch you later,” he mumbled to the man’s back, offering a weak wave.

He waited until Victor Nikiforov was out of sight before slumping to the counter, face pressed against his pad of post-it notes. His brain hurt from the emotional whiplash. The universe was pretty much shoving Victor Nikiforov into his face, so maybe it was trying to tell him something? Or maybe it was just the world’s oddest coincidence.

“Fuck my life,” Yuuri grumbled as he pulled out his phone and dared look through the many, many selfies Victor Nikiforov took of them. To no one’s surprise, Victor looked amazing and poised in all of them. Yuuri appeared stiff and terrified. Although, something Maiko said came back to him as he studied his pant-shitting expression. She saw him becoming more distant and grey as time ticked by, to the point where he seemed empty. Yuuri had to wonder, was terrified a step above or below dead on the inside?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing, and thank you again to tulkasebore for pre-reading and beta-ing this chapter. I appreciate all of the feedback I've gotten so far from all of you. I'm really enjoying writing again! It's a miracle!
> 
> I'm going to try and stay on task for the next couple of chapters. I'm moving to Australia in early January, so update may be a bit sporadic, but hopefully not. 
> 
> Until the next chapter, take care and have a good holiday period!


	3. Chapter 3

Yuuri stared at the clock opposing the Ice Palace customer counter. His chin rested against its top, watching the seconds inch around, second by painful second. 

Tick.

Only a few hours to go. 

Tick.

Only a few hours to go, and he could leave and go home.

Tick.

Question was, what would he do when he got there?

Tick.

He could make dinner?

Tick.

Maybe he’d just get take-out. 

Tick.

Yeah, take-out sounded easier. Take-out, and then…

Tick.

…

Tick.

Probably check Instagram, tumblr, and facebook. 

Tick.

God.

Tick.

The clock kept a steady rhythm against the inconsistent patter of fingertips on a keyboard. His co-worker sat next to him, tapping away on the computer. He couldn’t see the screen from his vantage point, but it sounded too fast to be work-related. He couldn’t blame her, the afternoons dragged on a weekday. Slower still when the evening offered nothing appetizing.

Still slumped as low as possible on the desk, Yuuri pulled his phone out. Scrolling through his apps, his thumb hesitated over the Instagram icon. He’d done well not to obsessively check it that morning while at work, so he was allowed to spend a couple of minutes indulging, right? Ever since Victor Nikiforov turned up at his work, his social media usage spiked. Whenever his thoughts were allowed to wander, they ended up on the top ice skater. What was he up to in Japan? Was he still here? Had he moved on from Tokyo? Was he going to turn up here again? Would Yuuri bump into him if he went back to his club?

He didn’t want to say he was obsessed with Victor Nikiforov; but at the same time, he couldn’t stop thinking about him the past few days. Twin guilt and intrigue hung heavy on his conscience as he eyed up the Instagram icon. He really wanted to know what Victor was up to. At the same time, he felt embarrassed about fuelling the fixation; more embarrassing when he suspected part of his interest involved nursing an impossible crush on the man. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to check up on him, right? He’d done well to avoid his phone for the morning. He could have one little…

…Yuuri hunched over Instagram still slumped over the desk. Huh, Victor was still in Tokyo; Odaiba to be specific. Victor at the Daikanransha Ferris wheel grinning against the backdrop of Tokyo high-rises while holding up a peace sign. Victor beaming next to the mini statue of liberty with a peace sign. Victor raising a takeaway Starbucks cup alongside her to match her torch with a peace sign. Victor’s cheesy smile alongside a gundam selfie and… another peace sign. 

Ugh, how was he supposed to not adore this man. No, this absolute, unashamed dork. Yuuri rested his forehead on the desk, cheeks burning. Victor Nikiforov didn’t even bother censoring himself from the public in both a literal and figurative sense. He laid himself bare for everyone, and not a shit was given. 

This Victor was such a sharp contrast to the one he met at the club. The one at the club commanded the floor with piercing cerulean eyes and a smirk. The one who turned into his ear and clasped his waist with assured hands. Since that night, the memory crystalized in further clarity, filling in the blurry features of Victor’s striking face. 

Things fell between the cracks of those two Victors; things that still puzzled Yuuri. Like, if he was so public, why hadn’t he talked about his sexuality? Y’know, the Victor who approached him the other night. Yeah, people were entitled to private lives outside of the media, but Victor flaunted himself on every media platform. Maybe he really was in the closet? Which, again, was fine. Just, it didn’t seem like the Victor Nikiforov sprawled all over his Instagram. 

All of Victor Nikiforov’s parts fascinated Yuuri. He couldn’t look away from the man who commanded both innocence and carnal magnetism in the same breath. 

Those visions of the other night accompanied the stream of Instagram photos passing before his eyes. Cheesy, relaxed grins accompanied and contrasted the fingers that gripped his hip bones just so. Hands on his own that he’d never feel again. A glorious smile he’d only see on a computer screen. 

Those memories that were, and the wonderful fantasies that were never meant to be provoked his restless boredom. He had experienced Victor Nikiforov, and left to his own imagination, part of him was a little annoyed about its fleeting nature. For a few minutes, a weight had lifted from his chest, and he’d been able to breathe again. That dance awakened something in his lungs and his chest, some aspiration, a need that dug into his being. 

Yet, that was the end of it.

He needed to move. “Do you mind if I go for a quick skate?” Yuuri sat up, already scooching back his chair in anticipation. God, he needed to get whatever this feeling was out of his system -- this weird angst tied up in his idol, his career, his future; he couldn’t put his thumb on a single target. 

His co-worker didn’t even look up from Facebook as she typed away. “Hm? Yeah, no problem.” 

“Really? Thanks.” Yuuri turned his head to regard her, slipping his phone into his pocket. His blood hummed with boredom and pent up energy, beckoning him to let go. 

Her gaze flitted away from the screen for a second to take in the stagnant lobby. “I think I’ll manage.”

Yuuri turned on the end of her sentence and headed for the ice. 

He sank onto the bench next to the rink and tugged on his skates. The insides were snug on his feet, tighter still as he laced them up. The pressure felt good, familiar, like coming home. 

Hoisting himself to his feet, he stood and savoured the near empty rink for several clear seconds. He watched a handful of people amble around the ice, bundled up against the chill. He took in a slow, frigid breath, and exhaled in a gentle visible puff. 

The details fell away as he removed his glasses, the current skaters becoming dark vague figures against a backdrop of white. He tucked his spectacles into one of his trainers for safekeeping. Squinting brought the edge of the rink into focus as much as he could from this distance.

He clunked towards the rink, placed his shoes on the rail, and his skates on the ice before he took off. Skates glided over the slick surface beneath him. Cool air caressed his cheeks, breaking around a smile he couldn’t stop. The chill caught in the back of his throat, and filled his lungs with each inhale. He launched off with his right foot, following up with his left, picking up pace. 

The speed played with his hair as he came into a clear patch of ice. Confidence rising, he dug into a three turn, drawing his arms through with the movement, gripping into his toe before pivoting into a triple salchow. He held his breath throughout the rotation, time slowing as he spun through the air. He sank into the landing, holding firm before following it up with a double. His ears hummed with the sweet sound of metal on ice. His pulse soared with the momentum, spreading throughout his being as he looped around the rink. His grin ached.

He curved into another three turn, digging into the ice with his right foot before taking off into a double flip. He wobbled a little as he came back to the ice, but caught himself. His chest hammered with the exertion and the thrill as he circled the rink’s arch, crossing backwards. He turned his head over his shoulder as he flew in reverse, arms out to balance himself. 

As he moved, his thoughts turned back to Victor Nikiforov. Of course, with the top ranked skater came warm cheeks and red ears, though he wasn’t sure if he could blame his own physiology or the cold. 

The past couple of days almost didn’t feel real. These hands had looped around Victor Nikiforov’s waist, slid over his side, dug into his muscle. These hips likewise had felt the press of sure fingertips into the bone, drawing him close. Those eyes had borne into his soul, and ignited something in him. The cold air was no match for the fire in his lungs. 

Victor Nikiforov was the reason he’d picked up skates in the first place. Even if this feeling he had now was temporary and casual, Victor had brought him back to the ice. Yuuri was thankful to have this in his bones again. Yeah, he lacked the finesse he used to possess, but that didn’t matter. To enjoy skating again was--

“Fuck—“ Yuuri collided with something—someone, flinging him forward and out of his daydream. Yuuri span out in a circle to try and catch himself, hands flailing, scrabbling to either keep his balance or grab onto the nearest hard surface, whichever came first. Fingertips latched onto the rink’s edge It took his brain a second to catch up with the rest of him. 

“I’m so sorry.” Yuuri squinted as he tried to make out the poor person he’d just run into, gaze landing on a person sprawled across the ice. The person lifted a silver-grey head and that was when his beating heart froze over. 

Victor?

No, it couldn’t be.

“Oh.” A pink-ish face turned up to meet his.

Right?

“Don’t worry about it.” The grey-haired person swayed upwards, coming up to stand.

Yuuri froze, hands still clasping the rink’s edge, tips digging in that little bit further. Nope, there was no mistaking that increasingly familiar accent. 

“Are you okay?” The sound of skates approached Yuuri, as did the vague-ish face that became ever clearer. As he drew closer, Yuuri picked out bright blue underneath a swish of grey hair. Victor Nikiforov brushed his fringe out of his way as he came to a stop in front of him. 

“Ah--” Yuuri strained a little to make out the finer details of his face. “Ah, yeah. I’m fine.” He grasped the invitation and pulled himself up. “Thanks.” Brown eyes followed their clasped hands to meet warm eyes. Yuuri’s cheeks coloured, fingers slipping out of their mutual grasp. 

“Oh, it’s you!”

Yuuri’s heart caught in his throat, alarm written across his face. Had he--

“From the other day. You work here.” Victor offered him a blurry smile. “That was some nice skating.”

Oh. Nevermind. “I, uh—“ Yuuri’s blush darkened. He wasn’t sure if he was more flustered over the shock of Victor Nikiforov possibly piecing the other night together, or that one of Russia’s top skaters just said he had good form. “Thank you?” 

“I’m serious.” The man cocked his head to the side a little, his tone shifting to hold mild amusement. “Provided you look where you’re going.”

Yuuri wet his dry lips and blinked, still flushed with embarrassment. “I, ah, used to skate a lot more when I was younger. Now I don’t really skate that much.” Ah, yes, Katsuki Yuuri, the height of intelligent conversation. “Mostly for fun.”

“Oh.” Victor blinked before his bright blue eyes settled on Yuuri. 

Yuuri fidgeted as he wondered whether he ought to excuse himself from the rink, go back to work, and kick himself for being such a dork. Maybe he could stay, provided his brain thought of some small talk. Any small talk. Christ, even the weather would suffice.

After several seconds of watching mute, flustered Yuuri, Victor presented him with a persistent smile. “Well, I’m also here to skate for fun. Would you mind if I joined you…?”

“Sorry-- _what_?” Yuuri’s jaw relaxed, his expression slack and astonished at the offer. Him. Skate with Victor Nikiforov. Russia’s champion figure skater. Oohhkay, he really hadn’t been expecting that whatsoever. 

Of course destiny was this cruel. Of course the one opportunity he got to skate with his idol was when Yuuri was at his rustiest. Of course it would also happen a couple of days after feeling Victor up. How the hell was he supposed to do this without turning into a ball of anxiety?

“I mean, would you mind if I skated with you…?” Victor studied him for a second longer before collapsing into a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

Huh. Victor really didn’t know who he was. He couldn’t even remember him from the other day. Yuuri’s shoulders sagged a little as it sank in, his angst cooling alongside the realization. “Oh, it’s Yuuri, Katsuki Yuuri.” Two seconds ago, he’d freaked out over being recognized. Now he felt a little… invisible? Unmemorable? 

Would Victor Nikiforov recall his name if he’d learnt it at the club?

“Sure,” Yuuri smiled in return, finding his tongue now that his mild disappointment mellowed out his anxiety. He just wished he had more control over his ruddy cheeks. “Let’s skate.”

Victor’s slightly fuzzy form seemed to perk at his acceptance. “Great!” He scooped one hand through his fringe, only to have it fall back across his forehead. “Let’s do a lap.” 

Before Yuuri could process what was happening, Victor grabbed his hand, gently tugging him along. The tips of his fingers dug a little bit into his palm and the back of his hand, encouraging him to follow. The pressure and the invitation were almost too familiar. 

Yuuri’s anxiety spiked again as he trailed after Victor, hurrying two steps to catch up until they were side by side. He thought at that point his partner would let go, but nope. His fingers stayed clasped around Yuuri’s as they found an ambling, easy pace next to each other around the rink. 

Just what the fuck was going on with his life?

“How come you’re not working? Is it your day off?” Victor asked, easing them into another round of small-talk. Thank god at least one of them had some semblance of how to be a normal human being.

“N-Nn,” Yuuri confirmed with a small headshake. “I just took a break. I, um, got a bit bored and needed to get it out of my system,” he explained, even though that was just the half of it. Somehow, he didn’t feel like mentioning the collocation of voices and angst that drove him to leave his post.

Victor offered a compassionate sigh as they neared the end of the rink, the two of them easing into the curve. “I believe it. I’d lose my mind if I had to sit at a desk every day. You must go for a skate all the time.”

Again, Yuuri gave another headshake, this one more confident. “Not really. I, ah, had an accident a while back and it kind of put me off skating,” he hedged.

His partner inhaled through his teeth in another expression of sympathy. “Ohh, really? That’s a shame. You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier.” From Yuuri’s periphery, he felt Victor turn to look at him. “You had such a grace about you. You were mesmerising.” 

Yuuri met the look with a curious, sidelong glance and pink cheeks. Victor was so damn casual about admitting to watching someone. “No, I couldn’t possibly—“

“I mean—“ Yuuri stammered. “I’m so out of practice.” Embarrassment blossomed on his cheeks and bled into the atmosphere around him, stifling the conversation. Words faded into the sound of metal on ice. 

Oooh. This was a bit awkward now. Yuuri wished he had his eyesight so he could make out the details of Victor’s expression. Anything more than a smile or a grin was lost on him. Yuuri squinted, mouth pinched as he willed Victor in to focus. 

He looked…

Like Victor. 

Yuuri shook his head and cleared his throat, determined to dig himself out of the silence he’d dragged them into. “So, how did you find yourself in Japan?” 

Victor _appeared_ to perk at the question, although that was just a best guess. “I’m on holiday. I landed a couple of days ago,” he replied, sounding at ease and not at all affected by Katsuki _I’m a Walking Social Disaster_ Yuuri. “I’ve been here for competitions, but never had the chance to explore properly.”

“Oh? How are you finding it so far?” Yuuri eased into the conversation, cheeks pink but lacking the brilliant burn from before. 

“I love it here!” Victor exclaimed; Yuuri heard the smile in his voice, which went straight to his chest. “This morning I was at Odaiba. Everything there is so charming. I like the tiny Statue of Liberty and the huge space robot.”

Before Yuuri could ask him if he was talking about the gundam, Victor charged ahead with more adventures. “The day before that I went to a couple of adorable temples, and I even went clubbing in Roppongi.” He beamed, fingers gracing Yuuri’s elbow as they came towards the curve. “I had such a good time. I met a really cute person there, but I never got their number. Yuri turned up so I had to go deal with him,” Victor moped, his grip on Yuuri tightening as they took the arc together. 

“Yuri?” Confusion and another bout of _shockpanichope_ gripped Yuuri, attention jerking up to Victor.

Victor let go as they came to the straight edge of the rink. “Mm, Yuri’s…” he trailed off and cocked his head to the side. “I suppose rink mate is the most accurate word, but then he’s a handful. He kind of stalked me to Japan, by the looks of things. Probably doesn’t trust me on my own.” Victor chuckled and shook his head. “And yet he’s the one sneaking into bars underage. Sure, he says he thought the drinking age here is eighteen, but I don’t know…” 

Oh, different Yuri. Yuuri sighed, shoulders relaxing as he skated alongside his idol. Now he could go back to being some ‘person’ at a club in Roppongi. Although Victor did just kind of inadvertently call him cute? So?

“Anyway,” Victor cut into his story and Yuuri’s stream of consciousness. “Yes, I’m having a great time here. I have a couple more days in Tokyo, and then I’m thinking about heading south to Osaka and Kyoto, I haven’t quite made my mind up yet. Is there anywhere you’d recommend?”

He was being asked a question. He needed an answer. Crap. “Wellll…” Yuuri skipped over the Tokyo sightseeing when he moved here. Quick. He needed a place. “I don’t know, I kind of spend all of my time here,” he wimped out with a sheepish smile. “But um, I think there’s a place around here that does all of these disgusting flavours of ice cream?” 

The pause made him wonder if he should’ve sold the ice cream better. “It’s great, they do curry flavour, and cheese flavour, octopus flavour.”

“Ah, perhaps,” Victor slipped in before the list of awful ice creams could get longer. “Maybe if you come with me so I don’t have to suffer alone,” he teased.

Yuuri laughed, easing back into their conversation. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, figuring that would never happen in a million years. In fact, it sounded like a weird dream he might have, ‘Victor and I went to a café and ate curry and octopus ice cream’. 

“I also want to go to a proper izakaya and drink sake, oh and go to an onsen and soak for hours,” Victor added, humming the suggestions with a great need. “And eat sukiyaki until I explode.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. There’s plenty of places to go.” Yuuri smiled, leaning into the arc as they lapped the rink again. “My parents own a ryokan with onsen, actually. But it’s a way away. It’s quite _remote_ , further south in this tiny place called Hastesu.”

But apparently words like ‘remote’ and ‘tiny’ didn’t put his skating partner off. He perked at the description, his hand again finding Yuuri’s arm as they flew around the rink. “It sounds adorable. A tiny onsen oasis in the south?”

“Mm. It’s not bad. But, ah—“ Yuuri slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, bringing it close enough to read the time. “Yeah, sorry. I should probably get back to work.” Disappointment coated his words as he glanced around the rink in an attempt to scope out his shoes. 

“Oh.” Victor uttered, sounding taken aback and maybe a little disappointed in turn? “No problem.”

Yuuri peered along the railing, trying to identify a blob that interrupted its smooth, hard edge. “Um, do you see a pair of shoes around? On the rail somewhere?” He squinted further until his forehead scrunched a little. “My glasses are in them.”

“Shoes?” Victor likewise started scouring the area. “Ah!” It took him three seconds what Yuuri still hadn’t done in a minute. It took the man even less time to find Yuuri’s hand again, and link it with his own. “There they are.”

Once again, Yuuri found himself trailing in Victor’s wake, hurrying to catch up as he was towed towards the exit. 

“H-hold on a second, Victor.” Yuuri almost tripped over the step off the ice, hand empty as its partner let go. He caught himself on the railing, stumbling one step as he caught his balance. When he looked up, Victor stood in front of him with a smile and a pair of spectacles.

Slender fingers graced his as they deposited his glasses in his palm. The world slid back into normality as he set his spectacles in place. The world, and Victor Nikiforov, who was now sharp and in-focus, and smiling at him. “Thank you for skating with me, Yuuri, I had fun.”

Yuuri followed the skater towards the benches and sat down next to him to take off his skates. “Eh? No, I should be thanking you,” he insisted, sinking onto the bench, crouched over his skates. Nimble fingers eased the knots free from his laces. “Not many people can say they’ve skated with Victor Nikiforov.”

“Why, can many people say they’ve had the pleasure of skating with Katsuki Yuuri?” Victor teased, leaning into his personal space with a sly smile. “Or can I claim that one too?” Oh, god. Was he being flirted with?

On instinct, Yuuri turned a violent shade of tomato and scooted backwards an inch to no success. Victor followed him the same distance, those intense blue eyes staying on him. “No—I mean Yes—I mean—I don’t skate with anyone, ever, really, so—“ he blabbered, not sure which of the two questions he was answering. 

Victor let out a soft, rich chuckle, bright eyes studying each feature of Yuuri’s face. “Then I’m glad I can say I’m one of the few people who’s skated with Katsuki Yuuri.”

To Yuuri’s relief, the top skater eased backwards and pulled out his phone. Yuuri returned to putting on his shoes and getting control over his pulse again. Christ, if he kept bumping into Victor like this, the man was literally going to kill him. Yuuri allowed himself several slow, conscious breaths to calm down. 

Once he’d settled, there was a weird feeling in his chest; not the tightness of anxiety, or the hammering of fear. It was a pleasant lurch that held on to him just right. It felt good. It. It almost felt like happiness. Here he was, next to Victor Nikiforov, having just skated a couple of laps with the man. Even if the guy did kill him, at least he’d die with that ticked off his bucket list. 

And you know? Maybe it was okay that Victor didn’t recognize him from the other night. They’d had a conversation, and he’d enjoyed it. Maybe it would’ve been awkward if they’d both known about the whole, ‘So I had my butt up on you and I kind of groped you a little’. Yeah, the more he thought about it, this felt _right_. 

In fact, he was just getting to a point where he felt comfortable and at ease in the other man’s presence when Victor unleashed another assassination attempt. 

His sunny smile snapped towards Yuuri after the momentary lull, realization bright in his eyes and on his face. “Oh! Now I remember you!” 

Oh.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this chapter. I arrived safe and sound in Australia, and managed to battle through internet issues to upload this update.
> 
> Thank you as always to tulkasebore for being my pre-reader, beta, and all around amazing person. 
> 
> Finally, thank you to all of you who left such lovely feedback on the chapters to date. I really appreciate the support -- having not written anything in forever, it means a lot that people are actually enjoying what I spit out. You are the best, and I hope nice things happen to you. Like, you stumble across $10 on the street, or get free ice cream or something, seriously.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh!!! How are you guys? I hope you're all well. I had one nightmarish work week, but it's almost over! I'm so excited for a weekend of YOI and for being able to give you guys another chapter.
> 
> Thank you to the amazingly wonderful tulkasebore for taking the time to fix all of my fuck-ups whilst also listening to my many AUs. You are a bloody treasure and I'm lucky to have you. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who, like, dropped kudos and left such lovely comments?? I am so happy you are all enjoying this!! Seeing everyone's reactions honestly made my day every time I saw something in my inbox. I love hearing what you guys make of the story so far. You are all so lovely and I'm sending you plenty of thumbs up (and davai).
> 
> Also, luck would have it that it is actually the 125th anniversary of the ISU! Apparently, research is a thing that happens sometimes.

“Oh! Now I remember you!”

Oh.

Shit.

A deer caught in headlights, Yuuri froze, fingers poised over his laces, heart still in his throat. He waited for the conclusion, waited for Victor to say it. 

_You’re the guy from the club._

Yuuri watched him, wide-eyed, lungs filled with baited breath.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Victor asked, looking up from his phone with one of his killer smiles. 

Shit. Yuuri let out his withheld sigh in one go. “I, uh,” Yuuri stammered, wide eyes unable to look away from him. _Shit--_

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Victor cocked his head to the side, and then back again as he considered. “Hmm, I suppose I could see why you’d want to keep it to yourself,” he pondered, dipping his nose back into his phone, thumb caressing the screen as he scrolled back and forth, gaze filled with intrigue. 

God, what was on the phone? Pictures? Pictures of what? “W-Well, you see, I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to you about it,” Yuuri began, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain himself. He edged a little closer, chin angled upwards as he tried to get a peek at the screen. Oh _god, was it video_? It was video, wasn’t it. “Since, you know, you’re so well known.”

Before Yuuri could snatch a glimpse, Victor put his phone down and laughed. “Well, yes but it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Relief sank into Yuuri’s bones, as did a weak, relieved smile. “Really?” Oh good, maybe this wasn’t going to be as awkward as he anticipated? Maybe it was all in his head? Yeah, he was just being paranoid, which sounded about right.

“Of course.” Victor’s smile turned reassuring as he placed one hand on Yuuri’s elbow, squeezing ever so slightly. “I understand. I mean, it was just a one-off thing, right? And mistakes happen.”

Or-- never mind. Maybe it was just as awkward as he imagined, which also sounded about right. “M-Mistakes?” Yuuri’s heavy heart dropped into his stomach, while his brain scrambled to rationalize it. Yes, it was a one-off thing, because this was Victor ‘I have a million fans and break a million hearts’ Nikiforov. Plus, he was only in Tokyo for a little bit, so it wasn’t like one dance would ever be more than one dance. Not to mention, Yuuri was, well, plain. He was a dime a dozen, so--

“Sure, the footage looks bad when you play it back in slow motion.” Victor’s mouth settled into a rare, flat line as he picked up his phone again, tilting his head to one side as he studied the screen. “And, if I can be honest, the technique is a little sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” Yuuri hunched into his shoulders, confused, vulnerable, but mostly confused. So, so confused. Was Victor really this—this—this _critical_ of random strangers he danced with? In clubs? That he apparently recorded? That didn’t sound like a Victor Nikiforov thing to do, but you never knew… “Technique? I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand—“

All of a sudden, YouTube was in front of his nose on a video titled ‘Katsuki Yuuri Skating Fail’; a clip ripped from the official recording. “Wait, you’re not Katsuki Yuuri? The skater?” 

Yuuri’s eyes widened as he took in the paused screen, his ass on the ice with Yuuko--

Oh god, there were way too many likes on the video. Oh god, he didn’t even want to think about the comment section. Oh god. Yuuri winced at the screen, pushing it away before it became too much to handle. “Oh— god, right. Y-yeah, that’s me.” 

Great. This was just great. So much for putting the past behind him and opening a new chapter in his life. You couldn’t come back from a dark history like that. Honestly? He blamed the internet. You couldn’t run away when the internet was just-- _there_ keeping track of every embarrassing thing you ever did. 

Thankfully, Victor saved him further embarrassment and pocketed his phone, although the look he gave Yuuri made the man feel a little uncomfortable. He stared at him as if he were trying to solve a puzzle, gaze heavy with purpose and lips slanted with curiosity. Yuuri sat a little straighter with his hands in his lap, unable to meet his persistent watch. 

After what felt like a minute of silence, Victor slipped into a smile and gave Yuuri a pat on the shoulder. “Well, no problem. There’s always other competitions, right?”

Uh. “Actually.” Yuuri squirmed, hands clasped tight together against his thighs. “I don’t compete anymore.” He sucked on his bottom lip and cast a sidelong glance to Victor. 

At that, the puzzled look on Victor’s place settled into place, soft if still a little confused.  
Yuuri allowed himself one quick, glimpse of his expression before focusing all of his attention on his knees, the floor, anywhere but Victor. 

God, Yuuri had been on such a high some five minutes ago, now he wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for, oh, at least a hundred years. His idol, and five-time gold medalist, watching his biggest skating fail right in front of him had to be his literal worst nightmare. 

Yuuri fidgeted, attention affixed to his fingers. He couldn’t take it anymore. “Anyway, I should probably get back to work,” he added after several long, awkward seconds and hastened to finish tying his laces. “But, um. Thank you again for skating with me.” He nodded his head once, and stood in one, stiff movement. As he did, Victor’s hand fell from his shoulder, though his gaze remained with Yuuri, studying, watching, probably judging. 

“Sure thing,” he replied in a sincere, contemplative voice that didn’t sound at all like the Victor knew on Instagram, and more recently in the club, and on the ice. “I might skate for a bit more, but I’ll see you on my way out, Yuuri.”

“M-mm.” he agreed with some reluctance, having just realized he could only escape Victor until the point where he went home. God, the awkward double goodbye, where he’d need to confront the embarrassing blip in the afternoon that magnified and magnified until it consumed him. Suddenly, a boring evening where he spent the evening on tumblr and Instagram sounded like the best thing ever. 

Yuuri adjusted his glasses and gave one final nod goodbye. “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your time at the Ice Palace.” He turned on his heel, waved at Victor, and made a conscious effort not to run all the way back to the reception desk. 

Somehow, he managed to miss Victor’s exit, because when lock-up time hit, he was nowhere to be seen. Part of Yuuri felt disappointed at the missed opportunity to speak with him again. But a louder, larger, part of Yuuri went weak with relief as he finished locking up the rink. The feeling was soon followed up guilt. Yuuri knew he was a grown ass adult, and most grown ass adults he knew could deal with average human interaction, even when those conversations were a little difficult. 

God, he should be over this by now. Why wasn’t he over this by now. Why did it have to eat away at him, and when was it going to stop? Yuuri sighed, bit into the feeling of determination mixed with regret, and sank against the Ice Palace wall, eyes closed and head tilted to the night sky.

Those feelings lingered into the next day. Another monotonous day at work meant another day of stewing in his own emotions. Sure, the rink was busy being a weekend, but the routine was… well, routine. People came, paid, you found them skates if they needed them, they went off, they skated. 

Once again, Yuuri found himself half-slumped over the customer desk, scrolling through Instagram. There was surprisingly little for entertainment today. Not even Victor had updated much since yesterday, which was odd for him. Maybe he was already on the train to Osaka or Kyoto? At least there would be pictures of sukiyaki and Kinkakuji to look forward to? 

“Oh, did you hear?” His co-worker piped up in the quiet, last twenty minutes before they closed up for the evening. “Apparently there was some super famous skater here yesterday. ”

“Ah, really?” Yuuri asked, hiding in Victor Nikiforov’s pictures from today and yesterday. “Cool.”

His co-worker hummed in agreement, but didn’t look up from whatever not-work she was doing on her own phone. “Yeah, did you see him?”

“Nope.” Yuuri didn’t even need to think about giving her an honest answer. He shook his head, not ready to risk opening up about the embarrassing encounter from yesterday. He wasn’t ready to explore that information with himself, let alone a work colleague. 

“Oh. Well, maybe next time,” Chihiro shrugged, eyes glazed as she popped candies or crushed fruit or something. The way she cursed under her breath indicated it wasn’t going well, whatever it was.

“Mm, maybe.” Yuuri shrugged back, feigning indifference as he went back to Instagram. 

Chihiro sat back in her chair, arms stretched up to the ceiling as she yawned. “Anyway, any plans for your day off tomorrow?” She asked, done with losing at her game for the time being.

“Not really. Chores? Grocery shopping. Sleeping in.” Yuuri likewise hit a button to bring up the lock screen and turned enough to face his co-worker. “And you? Any plans this evening?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, rolling her shoulders, followed by her head until something clicked. “Akiho’s taking me out on a date, although I’m not sure where we’re going. Maybe dinner somewhere nice if we can decide on a place together. Know of any good places?”

“Odaiba has some nice places. Maybe Garuva, that steakhouse?” Yuuri slid his phone into his pocket, giving his co-worker his full attention.

“Garuva.” Chihiro tilted her head to one side, pressing an index finger to her cheek as she considered. A small frown pulled at her lips. “Hmm. I don’t know it, how is it?”

Yuuri felt the heat return to his cheeks. “I’ve not eaten there, I um.” Saw it on Victor’s Instagram the other day, and wondered what it would be like to join him; because who hasn’t daydreamed about dating Victor Nikiforov at one point or another? “Heard it was meant to be good.”

“Well, I’ll look up a couple of reviews, then. Either way, Odaiba’s a cute date spot,” Chihiro mused as she swiped her phone open and opened her web browser. “Thanks, Yuuri.”

Yuuri slid his chair backwards. Might as well start locking up while they chatted. “No problem. This is, what, date number three?” He stood, pushing his chair back in place before he grabbed the clipboard hanging on the wall behind him for the end-of-the-day checks. 

“Number four,” Chihiro tried not to grin too much, glancing up from her phone for a second before burying herself in restaurant reviews. “And yeah, it’s going really well. I’m happy.”

“Ah, that’s good. I’m glad,” Yuuri smiled in return as he pulled out a pen. He stepped out from behind the customer desk, although as he did movement caught the corner of his eye. Something outside, from beyond the double electric doors at the entrance. Or, to be precise, _someone_ ; someone they’d have to turn away because it was pretty much closing—

Tall. Foreigner. Grey-silver hair, his brain supplied as he caught sight of the approaching person. Hide. Hide. Hide. Anywhere.

He glanced around for the nearest escape route, although only one option revealed itself to him. Bathroom. That was fine, the bathroom would do. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure why he decided to run away. The logical part of his brain knew hiding in the bathroom wasn’t a good idea, or a sensible idea, or a proud idea. But his feet booked it there before the familiar head of hair made it into the lobby. The door swung shut behind him, leaving him in a quiet space with only his beating heart for company. 

A flustered Yuuri stared back at him in the mirror, glasses askew, cheeks pink. Staring back at this own, petrified expression, he took a second to really look at himself, and take in what he’d just done. 

He’d run away from Victor Nikiforov, on the heels of yesterday’s awkward conversation -- for no real reason, mind you. What was the worst that could happen? The literal worst case scenario was silent judgment about how he was a terrible skater. Which, when he thought about it, wasn’t that bad. 

On the other hand, yesterday was kind of a disaster, what with the uncomfortable, self-conscious exchanges and then even more awkward realization that to Victor, he was Katsuki Yuuri, the biggest fuck-up in Japan’s skating history. 

Yuuri fixed his glasses, gripped the edge of the basin and gave himself a good, hard stare in the mirror. Yes, all of that might be true. Yes, he might be Japan’s biggest skating fuck-up. At the same time, he had to remember that those things didn’t define him as a person, right? Plus, it wasn’t like Victor returned _just_ to make Yuuri feel bad about his professional career. The odds of him bringing it up were low. The guy probably got the closing times wrong, or forgot something and came to check the lost and found. 

Yes, right. Either way, he couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever, hoping Victor would leave soon. Yuuri gave a sharp inhale through his nose, steeling himself with confidence. Yes. He could go out there, and have an average conversation with another human being. He could go out there, greet Victor, and be normal. 

Yes, normal. 

He gave one last nod at his reflection, and then pulled open the bathroom door, and almost stepped right into Victor.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri buckled a little over his own feet in surprise, taking an abortive back step so he didn’t bump into the man. His buoyant confidence slipped out in one breath. “Y-Yes?”

Standing just in front of the bathroom threshold, Victor offered him a sweet, simple smile. “Ah! I was looking for you. Come on, get ready. We’re going.”

Yuuri blinked, and waited for an explanation that never came. Sure, those words all made sense individually, but he had no idea what they implied together. Going? Going where? “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You’re finishing work, right? Your colleague said you were closing, which means we’re going.” Victor took his hand, as if he were worried Yuuri would run away. Again.

Victor’s instincts were probably right.

Yuuri looked down at their clasped hands, opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and then tried again. “Going where?” He articulated, which only got to one of ten questions circling around his conscious right now. Like, why? For what purpose? And why? Really, why?

“You promised me disgusting ice cream, so we should go and get disgusting ice cream.” His insistent tone, while kind, suggested he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Even still, Yuuri’s brain prodded him with excuses. “But--” What about dinner? He had leftovers waiting for him in the fridge that needed eating, like, urgent leftovers expiring soon. Oh, not to mention that overdue load of laundry. Plus, there was a recording of that TV show he liked waiting for him. By that time, there was usually social media to catch up on. Also, he was kind of tired after a long day. 

Victor’s stare was unwavering, locked with his, daring him to come up with an excuse. No, daring was too forceful. His gaze was soft around the edges, quiet and hopeful as he implored Yuuri to join him. 

He. 

He couldn’t say no to that face. 

“Y-Yeah, okay. Let’s go get ice cream.” Yuuri relented. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Victor Nikiforov already knew about the literal worst moment in Katsuki Yuuri’s existence. What was he really so resistant toward spending an evening with a living skating legend? Most people would kill for that sort of one-on-one time with the man. 

So. Yes. This felt good, now that he thought about it. This would be fine; he could manage an evening with Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri let out a relaxed sigh and found a smile. 

Victor’s whole frame perked up, the grasp on his hand tightening. “Excellent! Lead the way.” 

At least, he hoped he survived. Yuuri’s heart squeezed in time with Victor’s grip and his smile. He might die if Victor continued to do things like that. The way he smiled went straight to his chest and settled there, warm and safe. God, he could see why everyone was a little bit in love with Victor Nikiforov.

“Sure.” Yuuri replied, offering a smile that must’ve paled in comparison to Victor’s natural glow. 

“Only,” he began as Victor gave him a tiny tug to follow. Yuuri remained put, which earned him a puzzled, arched eyebrow. Yuuri held up the clipboard. “I kind of need to close up. Oh, I also don’t know where the ice cream place is, or what it’s called so we’ll have to google it.” 

Before Victor could protest, Yuuri slipped his hand out of the man’s grasp, and stepped past him into the lobby. “Give me two seconds,” he promised, and made a line towards Chihiro, who was more or less frozen to her chair, staring at their doorway conversation. 

Yuuri approached the customer counter with a sheepish smile, wary of her rather intense expression. He came to a stop in front of her, and immediately— “Uf.” —found himself at her eye-level as she yanked him in close. The clipboard thunked to the desk, and then the floor.

“Holy fucking shit. That’s **the** Victor Nikiforov, right?” She demanded in a hushed whisper, pulling Yuuri in closer still. “He’s the famous guy who came in here?!”

“Who, him?” Yuuri tossed a look over his shoulder at the one foreigner in the room, and his incredible Europeanness. Not to mention, the expensive looking coat and designer clothes peaking out from underneath. Oh, and then there was the athletic frame and dashing good looks. “Hah.” Yuuri’s sheepish smile persisted as he looked back to his co-worker. “Yeah, I guess that’s him.”

“What the fuck, Yuuri? You said you didn’t know him.” Suspicion bled into her gaze, chin angled upwards with skepticism and curiosity. “He asked for you,” she clarified, narrowing her gaze at him. “ _By name_.”

Yuuri could only offer a helpless, constrained half-shrug, since Chihiro still had a death grip on his arm. The only answer he could offer was the truth: ‘I sort of didn’t want to talk about it because I made a total ass out of myself in front of him yesterday, but by the looks of things it wasn’t completely tragic because he’s here now?’ 

The truth was embarrassing, and difficult to explain. “Yeah, I guess I sort of—“ Uh, shit. If the truth was embarrassing, what did he say instead? He sort of what? What had he sort of done? Yuuri made a face, knowing full well his answer wouldn’t satisfy Chihiro. “I forgot?”

“You forgot.” Chihiro gave him a flat, bullshit-detecting glower. She sat on it for a couple of seconds as she studied him, but Yuuri didn’t cower. He met her with an expression of banal innocence that betrayed nothing; at least, he hoped it betrayed nothing. 

Either way, his co-worker appeared to ease off, leaning back a little in her chair. “Mmkay. But I want a proper explanation on Monday.” 

Yuuri sighed, relaxing backwards as his co-worker let him go. “Okay, sure. Monday.” Thank god, he was free. “For now, why don’t we lock up and go home?”

Chihiro wrinkled her nose and shook her head without skipping a beat. “Psh, don’t worry about it.” She shot him a tiny wicked grin. “I’ll lock up, you go enjoy your date or whatever it is.” 

“W- Oh, we’re not, no. We’re not going on a date.” Yuuri waved his hands in front of him to dismiss the idea. “He’s just making me take him out for ice cream.” 

Chihiro’s eyebrow shot up again because, yes, okay, it sounded a little like a date without the extra context. “Mmkay, just make sure he pays.” She flicked a look over the expensive-looking foreigner, and then back at Yuuri. “He looks like he can afford it. Just, shoo, go.” She flicked her hands at him to scoot. “Have fun.”

“Alright, thanks.” Yuuri retreated from the customer desk and gave his co-worker a parting smile. “See you Monday, and good luck on your date.”

“Sure, you too.” She waved, and stuck out her tongue before she turned back to her phone. 

Victor’s interest piqued as Yuuri approached. “You’re ready? I think I found the place on google maps.” He waved his own phone in in the air with triumph. “I just googled ‘weird ice cream shop Tokyo’ and it came up. It’s in a place called Namjatown? It looks adorable.”

“That’s the place.” Adorable was one word for it. Yuuri could think of a few more like, ‘kitsch as hell’ and ‘tourist trap’. Oh god, was he really taking one of Russia’s top figure skaters to eat terrible ice cream? Yuuri gave himself a moment to look at Victor in his tailored coat, leather shoes, the air of class about him, perfection incarnate. Chihiro had a point, Victor could probably afford actual caviar, not caviar flavoured vanilla ice cream. What was Yuuri doing? 

******

“Ok, well, this is it.” Yuuri extended an arm outwards to Ice Cream City!!! And its cartoonish, inexpensive interior. The sign out front boasted scoops of half-melting, pastel ice cream, supported by sunshine yellow pillars. A cartoon cat sat atop the word ‘Ice Cream City’, welcoming them into the selection of ice cream shops. It was a _unique_ clash of colours, concepts, and taste. Since it was a Saturday night, it was somewhat crowded with couples, young people, and a handful of tourists. “What do you think?”

He turned his head to Victor, waiting for the look of mild disappointment. Sure, he might cover it up with polite interest. But underneath he imagined regret sat behind his decision to join some random Japanese guy at a cheap ice cream attraction. 

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing,” he grinned, and looped an arm around Yuuri with his phone extended for a selfie. Victor beamed at the camera, tilting the angle higher as he snapped a couple. Yuuri put on a smile and prayed to god it didn’t look too stupid. 

Once Victor put the phone down, Yuuri turned in Victor’s grasp to scan the area for vacant seats at one of the yellow tables with a large plastic palm tree sprouting from the middle. “Why don’t I find us a table while you grab us some of those little tubs of ice cream?” Yuuri gestured toward the shop with a wall of freezer doors boasting a fine collection of weird and wonderful ice cream. “Maybe like, two weird ones and two normal ones?”

“Sure, sure,” Victor agreed before swanning off with a small skip of excitement in his step. Yuuri watched him go with a tired, but endeared smile. 

Alone, he had some time to collect himself in the whirlwind of Victor Nikiforov. Like, what the hell was he doing with the guy eating ice cream for dinner? Or, why did Victor choose him to go out with instead of that guy Yuri he mentioned earlier? It all felt a bit random and surreal. Like, Victor went all the way back to the ice rink _just_ to pick him up on the off chance he’d be there. 

Yuuri slipped into a couple of spare seats after the previous couple vacated, elbows tucked onto the plastic table, palms propping his chin up as he worked through the last hour of his life. Victor came back _for him_. It wasn’t like he’d gone to the rink to skate, and happened to invite him out. No, he sought out Yuuri on a whim for ice cream.

“I’m back!” Victor announced himself, carrying a swathe of ten tiny tubs. That was not four. That was most definitely not four.

“O-Oh my god.” Yuuri sat back to make space for the bounty, wide-eyed and daunted at the sheer amount. 

Victor dumped them on their end of the table with a proud smile. “I couldn’t decide on one or two,” he explained as if that wasn’t already clear. “Let’s seeee I got crab, snake, raw horse meat, squid ink, soy sauce, shark fin, miso ramen, and a couple of others.”

Yuuri took an optimistic peek at the labels for anything that sounded anything close to normal. Peach, cherry blossom, mango? He picked up a promising looking pot with a royal purple lid and mustard-gold text. That had to be something good, right? It was fancy. Why would you use fancy packaging on weird novelty ice cream? He peered at the letters. “Grilled eggplant.” 

“Yes,” Victor replied, sounding far too pleased with his selection as he set his treasure pile of ice cream into a neat group for another photo. “It sounds awful, I have to try it. Where should we begin?” He pulled out his phone again to steal a couple of shots, moving this way and that until the angle was just right. 

“How about we start with…” Yuuri picked up one and tilted the lid towards him so he could read it. He swallowed down the anticipatory lump in his throat and ignored the preemptive weird feeling in his stomach. “Chicken wing and work our way from there?” He opened the abomination and offered it out to Victor first. 

Victor’s face was the complete opposite of how Yuuri felt as he took the tub and studied the white ice cream with flecks of yellow lumps. 

He then picked up his spoon and scooped out a small portion, eyeing it up before it passed his lips. After a second of contemplation, he scrunched up his face with disgust. “Oh! That’s so weird, it’s sweet! It’s like—“ Victor licked his spoon, savouring the delicacy on his palate. “It’s not bad? Vanilla, but it also tastes like fried chicken. Here, you try it.” 

Yuuri looked at the offer with skepticism, but took it back. It would be rude not to, even if the thought made him feel ill. He dug a tiny amount out and took a breath before sticking it in his mouth, expression braced for the worst. The cold ice cream hit his tongue, melting into a bizarre concoction of vanilla, sugar, and a strange savoury flavor he supposed was chicken. The longer it stayed with him, the more the aftertaste gave him meat. Yuuri wrinkled his nose. “Mm-m, that’s definitely chicken.” 

The conversation lulled for a few seconds while Yuuri plucked a napkin from the holder and tried to clean the ice cream off of his tongue with some air of discreet nonchalance. God, he could really go for a water or something, anything, to wash down the taste. Yuuri folded up his napkin and placed it in his lap as he surveyed the marathon of weird ice cream in front of them. 

“So,” Victor started, helping himself to more vanilla chicken nightmare. Did he actually not mind that stuff? Yuuri could only stare as he ate another mouthful of fried chicken ice cream. He then put down his spoon putting to ease the lid off of ‘Grilled eggplant’. “Yuuri.” He offered the tub out to him. Yuuri could only watch it with veiled nausea. “I have to admit, I had an ulterior motive for asking you out tonight.”

Huh, that sounded ominous. Yuuri glanced from the purple dessert up to Victor with curiosity, taking the pottle from him. “What’s that?” He asked, trying to sound casual. Well, as casual as one could while scooping gross looking purple-ish brown ice cream onto a spoon. He popped the dessert into his mouth and spluttered at the attack on his taste buds. “Oh my god, that’s so bad.” Yuuri wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and reached out for another napkin. “I’m serious, oh. _God_.”

Before he could grab one, Victor intercepted his hand and clasped it within his own. He was about to protest, but the sincerity in Victor’s eyes made him reconsider. Whatever crisis Yuuri was going through right now, Victor had something more serious and important he needed to tell him. Yuuri pushed down whatever disaster was going on in his mouth right now and focused on the man sitting opposite him. 

Victor took a breath, gaze staying with Yuuri as he spoke. “I’d like you to be my skating partner.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Yuuri swallowed the last of the grilled eggplant, and tried not to make a disgusted face. Ugh, god that was really foul. He really needed to focus on Victor, but god. The ice cream made it difficult. 

“Be my pair skating partner,” Victor clarified, his grip on Yuuri’s hands staying true, refusing to let go. 

Yyyeah that still didn’t help. Yuuri stopped feeling around in his mouth for the last of the eggplant and put his sole attention on the other man. “I don’t—How do you mean?” If it was a competition, all of the official events didn’t take same-sex pairs; he assumed **the** Victor Nikiforov knew that.

Before he could ask any further clarifying questions, Victor’s grip on Yuuri tightened, pulling him in closer across the table. His brilliant eyes shone with intrigue. “See, after watching you skate and then talking with you yesterday, I had an idea.” Victor smiled, optimism shining behind his gaze. “The International Skating Union is hosting it’s one hundred and twenty-fifth year anniversary gala. I spent the morning reading through their guidelines and regulations, and it doesn’t have any gender restrictions on the pair skate portion. You and I could enter together.”

Yuuri’s jaw went a little lax at the idea. That… was going to be a huge event. “You and I,” he repeated in a soft, reserved tone. “But, why me?” He was literally some random guy Victor bumped into on his vacation. He’d only known him for a couple of days. “You saw that video and— Anyway, I told you, I don’t do competitive skates anymore.” Yuuri made to pull his hands away from Victor’s, but the man held firm, a twinkle in his eye.

“That’s the beauty of it, it’s not a competitive skate. It’s just for fun, and look,” Victor took a breath, his attention dedicated to the man in front of him. “I’ve been… _bored_ , for a long time with skating. I’ve won gold, I’ve set records. Nothing’s new, nothing’s exciting,” he explained, letting out that breath with a weary sigh. 

“Then I saw you the other day at the rink, I learned about who you were. I watched your videos until two in the morning.” Victor brightened again, his easy smile touching the corners of his eyes. “Then it came to me. I want to do something shocking. I want to do a pair skate with another man. No one will expect it.” 

His fingers squeezed Yuuri’s. “And I want to do it with you. You’re captivating. Your step sequences are enchanting, your emotion when you skate is dreamlike.” Victor fixed him with another look, brows slightly tilted upwards, imploring Yuuri.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri uttered, not sure how to handle the plea. “I doesn’t—I don’t—“ He swallowed and tried again. “It’s not about it being competitive or not. I just—I’m sorry, I can’t.” The words, ‘I’ve hurt people, I’ve ruined careers, I’ve embarrassed myself’, physically couldn’t leave his throat. 

The hope in Victor deflated, his sunny expression now soft, yet guarded with disappointment. “May I ask why?” He queried, his thumb rubbing the side of Yuuri’s hand, encouraging. 

Yuuri wet his lips, and tried – really tried – to articulate himself. He dropped his gaze to the melting tubs of ice cream, studying the accumulating condensation before watching Victor through lowered lashes. “Yuuko – that woman in the video you showed me yesterday. She couldn’t skate after that.”

The final puzzle piece seemed to click into place behind Victor’s blue eyes, well and truly this time. “Ah.” He nodded. He, too, lowered his gaze to the table as that piece of information sat between them. Yuuri watched his expression flicker with indecision, unspoken words sitting behind his parted lips. “I understand.”

Yuuri’s pocket buzzed once. 

“Would you at least consider it?” Victor asked. “Please?”

His pocket buzzed twice.

No, three times. 

“I’m sorry, just one second.” Yuuri pulled his hands away from Victor and dipped into his trousers to retrieve his phone. Oh god, his WhatsApp was blowing up. 

Phichit [18:36]: Yuuri.

Phichit [18:36]: YUURI

Phichit [18:36]: Where are you right now?

Phichit [18:37]: Like, seriously. 

Phichit [18:39]: omg answer me. 

Phichit [18:40]: YUUUURRRIIII

Phichit [19:11]: OK WTF. 

Phichit [19:12]: Call me right now.

Phichit [19:12]: Or let me know when I can call you

Phichit [19:12]: Or whatever. Whenever you get a chance just

Phichit [19:14]: CALL ME. 

Phichit [19:16): BEFORE I LITRALLY EXPLODE.

“Oh god.” Yuuri, a little grey-faced, lifted his gaze to meet Victor, hunched over his phone. “I really am sorry. This looks urgent. I should go.” Yuuri tried to pretend he wasn’t also a little relieved for having a reason to excuse himself from the ice cream and the proposition, as much as he enjoyed Victor’s company. 

“Hang on a second.” As Yuuri stood in one fluid motion, Victor grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen from his pocket. He watched as the man scribbled something in the corner, and then shoved it into his palm. “In case you change your mind.” Victor smiled, closing Yuuri’s fingers around the napkin. 

Had—had—did—Victor Nikiforov just gave him his number. Yuuri’s cheeks glowed as he opened his hand enough to see the squished number, and then pocketed it quick. Victor Nikiforov _just gave him his number. As in, to call him later._ “A-Ah, right, sure,” Yuuri blathered, having no time to comprehend the gravity of what just happened. 

“S-See you later,” Yuuri excused himself stepping backwards with the phone to his ear as he dialed Phichit. 

The dial tone only rang once before Phichit answered. “Yuuri? Oh my god, Yuuri.”

“Phichit! Are you okay?” Yuuri started wandering back through Namjatown, weaving through the cartoony alleyways towards the exit. 

“No! I’m not okay, Yuuri!” Phichit sounded… either excited, or very pissed, or both. 

“Why, what’s wrong?” Yuuri took a step to one side around a tourist, navigating the sparse crowd.

“Because I had to learn through Instagram that my best friend is eating ice cream with Victor fucking Nikiforov,” he explained, sounding indignant, although Yuuri suspected the feeling only went so deep. 

Yuuri wrinkled his nose. “Wait, Instagram?” As soon as the question left his lips, his brain supplied him with the answer. Duh! The selfies outside Ice Cream City, the photos of their ice cream bounty. _Of course_ they went straight onto social media. Yuuri put his palm to his forehead, shamed he didn’t realize sooner.

“Yeah, Instagram! You’re plastered all over his feed. How the hell did that happen?” 

Oh god. Yuuri came to a stop and almost caused a collision with the person behind him. He—he was on Victor Nikiforov’s—“Honestly, I have no idea,” Yuuri defended. “He kind of turned up at the Ice Palace a few days ago—“

“ _A few days ago?_ And you didn’t tell me? Yuuri, I’m hurt.” Although to Yuuri he sounded more enthusiastic than injured. “You _met_ Victor Nikiforov, the literal man of your dreams, and you didn’t tell me about it.”

“Ah, sorry. It’s a long story—“ Yuuri side-stepped another pedestrian as he made his way out onto the street toward the Higashi-Ikebukuro station.

“Oh, don’t worry. I want to hear _this_. Please, continue.” He could hear Phichit grinning on the other end.

Yuuri felt his cheeks return to their usual shade of tomato. “Well, we kind of ended up skating together at the Ice Palace, and then today he turned up at closing time and asked me to get ice cream with him.” He braced himself for the next piece of the story, moving around people on the street. “And, uh, then it got kind of weird. When we sat down he asked me if I wanted to be his ice skating partner.”

“And then you said yes, and now you’re engaged, right? Oh my god, Yuuri.” Phichit cackled from his end. “That literally sounds like the plot to a romcom. Good for you.”

Yuuri chuckled with him, although the edges were fluffy and sheepish. “Not exactly. I said no, but he gave me his number and told me to think about it.”

“ **HE GAVE YOU HIS NUMBER?** ”

Yuuri jerked the phone away from his head at the explosion, only returning it to his ear when he figured it was safe. “Yeah, I said I’d think about it, but I don’t know. I still don’t feel good after…” Yuuri tucked his arm around his mid-section, holding onto his side. “Y’know.” 

“I’m sorry. I think the line might be bad. Are you saying Victor Nikiforov asked if you would skate with him _and you said no???_ ” Phichit’s tone leveled, turning accusatory. “Ok, who are you, and what have you done with the real Katsuki Yuuri?”

Ok, when Phichit put it that way, it did sound a little ridiculous. Of course, what he said was one-hundred per cent out of context. It didn’t have the layers of embarrassment, regret, and insecurity painted around it to fill in the picture. Still, Yuuri felt himself smiling into the speaker as he paused outside of the train station. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” 

“Yuuri, there’s literally no way you will ever have this chance again. You’re being silly,” he pointed out.

“Oh!” Speaking of numbers and missed chances, a thought occurred to Yuuri. “Oh…” Then a second though occurred to Yuuri: he probably shouldn’t add the bit about the club, right? It might actually kill his best friend, and he rather like having his best friend alive.

Too late, Phichit had already heard the hesitation in Yuuri’s tone. “What? What is it?”

“Well.” Yuuri bit down on a sigh. “I didn’t even tell you the other part.”

“What do you mean _other part_? There’s more?” He imagined Phichit sitting bolt upright

Yuuri braced himself for Phichit’s reaction, starting out slow. “Welll, you know that club at Roppongi we went to when you visited?”

“Mhm, continue,” Phichit encouraged.

“So, I kind of went there a few days ago. By myself. And, um. I danced with Victor Nikiforov—But I didn’t know it was him at the time. I only realized when he turned up at the Ice Palace later,” he clarified, his speech picking up speed to make sure he got everything he needed to out before Phichit detonated. 

Unlike before, he didn’t screech. He kind of went silent for a second, and then went all quiet. “Oh my god, Yuuri, are you actually trying to kill me? In the space of one week, you danced with Victor at a club, ate ice cream with him, and then he gave you his number. You’re not dating him, are you? You’d tell me if you were dating him.”

“No, we’re not dating it’s just—it’s a lot of weird coincidences.” Yuuri used his free hand to rub his temple. “Look, I’m about to jump on the train home. But I’ll skype you when I get in if you’re free?”

“You bet your damn ass we’re skyping when you get back. I need to hear more of this. I’ll talk to you soon, ok?”

“Sure, talk to you soon,” Yuuri agreed. “See you.” He ended the call and closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself before he continued into the Higashi-Ikebukuro station. God, what a weird, long day. He was tired, confused, and he had no idea where he was heading with any of this.

And yet, he couldn’t stop the small smile that stayed with him the whole ride home.


End file.
